Lord Berton’s eyes widened at the sight of the pewter ring on Nick’s thumb. He nodded, bowed politely once more then turned away, not sparing Jemma another look. The french door shut firmly, leaving her alone with Nick.
Hushed whispers met her ears as several couples, their clandestine activities interrupted, emerged from the shadows of the garden. They gave the Devil of Dunbar and Jemma a wide berth as they made their way back inside.
Nick never even bothered to look at them.
“What did you think you were doing, Jem? Coming out to the garden with a man like Berton?” The mismatched eyes flicked over her. “I do not care to be made a fool of.”
"A man such as Berton? I find him fascinating and endlessly amusing. He is also a fine dancer,” she retorted, sounding not the least convincing.
Nick snorted in disbelief. “Jem, I am trying to allow you to wade through your anger at me, endless though it appears to be, but coming out to the gardens with him was unwise.”
“As going out to the gardens with you once was? I am now well versed in the ways of a rake.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed and she thought he would lash out at her, but instead he ran his forefinger gently down her cheek. “I beg you cease this foolishness, for both our sakes. We must talk. You mustallowus to talk.”
The very touch of his finger sparked against her skin, followed by a lightning bolt through her body of intense longing. She hated him for this incessant wanting, hated herself for not being able to stop it. “I find Lord Berton and indeed any man here tonight, to be far more to my liking thanyou. You cannot stop me, should I wish to be courted by another.” She poked him in the chest with her fan, determined to make her point. “There are many here who would vie to be my suitor.”
Nick's hand dropped to his side as his lips compressed into a grim line. “Your charms are notsogreat,” he said in a cold, flat tone, “that a man will risk his life for them. Indeed, you will not find one man amongst thetonwilling to do so.”
“What do you mean?” She gripped her fan. Whatdidhe mean?
Nick took her arm roughly. “The same, however is not true in reverse.” His fingers bit into her flesh as hepulledher back into the ballroom.
Jemma attempted to shake him off, but his grip only tightened. “I beg you turn your attentions elsewhere,” she spat as the meaning of his words sunk in. “I wish you to find another woman to torment.”
“Do you? Let us test such a theory.”
The gossips of thetontwittered maliciously as they watched Nick drag Jemma through the ballroom. Women murmured behind their fans. Men turned away and began to speak in loud tones. The orchestra started up again, much louder this time, as if someone had instructed them to do so.
Lord Berton stood to the left with a group of men laughing gaily as they lifted their goblets to toast each other. He caught her eye, held it, then purposefully turned away before Nick noticed.
Nick did not release her until he found Uncle John standing with Aunt Mary and Petra. He pushed Jemma towards her aunt. “Your niece is unwell. A terrible headache brought on by too much excitement.”
Jemma’s mouth opened to refute his claim when she felt the pinch of her aunt’s fingers on her arm.
Aunt Mary was pale but composed as she faced Nick’s fury. She pulled Jemma to her. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Nick spun on his heel, his dark hair floating above his broad shoulders as he moved back into the crowd. A beautiful blonde, dressed in pale blue fell into step beside him, taking his arm. He did not shake her off.
“I believe I am ill, Aunt Mary,” Jemma whispered, her stomach lurching at the sight of the blonde. The blonde had nothing in common with the Sinclair sisters, but the sickening feeling in Jemma’s stomach was the same. “It is best I return home.”
18
Jemma threw down the book in her hands—a dull romantic bit of fluff Petra lent her earlier that morning, in frustration. Since the altercation with Nick at the Marquess of Cambourne's ball, she had dreamt of the scathing setdown she would give him for his treatment of her once he arrived at her uncle’s door.
His Grace did not cooperate.
“Perhaps he is busy with his companion of the other night." Jemma stood and picked up the discarded book and flounced back to the chair she'd been sitting in. Against her better judgment, she’d asked Rowan who the woman was. Rowan, his embarrassment clear, confessed Lady Tomlinson had once been the duke’s mistress, though, Rowan assured her, he did not think that the case any longer.
Jemma looked at a silver tray lying atop the side table. Earlier the tray had held a small display of chocolate tarts but was now empty.
Not even a crumb left.Aunt Mary will be horrified.
“Hello niece.” Lord Marsh quietly entered the drawing room.
“Uncle.” Jemma sat up and picked up the discarded tome. She wished she could magically wave the empty tart tray away as well.
“I see you’ve enjoyed Mrs. Livingstone’s chocolate tarts.” He nodded at the tray.
